


A Father's Worries

by routa



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Character Study, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Gender-Neutral My Unit | Byleth, Good Parent Jeralt Reus Eisner, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29471883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/routa/pseuds/routa
Summary: After Remire, Jeralt worries. Byleth is tired. Introspection happens.
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth
Kudos: 18





	A Father's Worries

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is rushed but I've had a migraine-filled week and I need to feel productive so I'll toss this thing into the ether in a desperate attempt to pretend I did something. Also the moment I started the game and saw Jeralt I was like "I shouldn't get too attached to you, should I?" and then got attached anyway, because he's cool and nice and I'm weak for family relationships.
> 
> So here's this sappy, uneventful, disjointed fluff-thing I wrote. I hope it's at least somewhat cute? 
> 
> WARNING: There's some off-hand mentions of violence and child death, but nothing is described.

The air was charged, like the whole Garreg Mach Monastery had suddenly become training grounds to budding mages – which it technically was, but only in designated spots. It was a heavy kind of charge, tense and melancholic at the same time. It wasn’t all that surprising, though. The incident in Remire Village had left most of Garreg Mach shaken even after a week had passed. People becoming crazed as a result of some kind of twisted, nonsensical experiment, all conducted by someone they had thought was an ally, not to mention some of the students here had had to witness it, even kill the sickened villagers so they wouldn’t kill the ones still sane. It had been… a lot. So much that Jeralt Eisner, who couldn’t really claim to have much fondness for the monastery or the Church of Seiros that ran it, had to worry a little about the place as well.

Okay, so he mostly worried about the people. The students especially. Sure, it wasn’t his business, and normally he didn’t even try to make it so. He wasn’t their caretaker, and if those nobles thought that putting their brats into this school was good for them, who was he to argue? He’d raised his own child on the battlefield as well. But sending the brats to these kinds of missions? When some of them had mere months of military training? It was madness, and not the first time Jeralt wanted to curse this whole establishment and the way some people bowed down to it – and the Archbishop – like it was the answer to everything.

Jeralt was pulled out of his thoughts when his restless, impromptu night patrol brought him to the patch of yard in front of the students’ quarters. Some of the windows still had lights on them, even this late at night, but that wasn’t really what caught his attention. He was much more focused on the lonely, dark silhouette seated on the stairs leading to the lower yard. Jeralt frowned and slowly walked over to his child. Byleth was staring off into the distance, dark blue eyes calm to those who didn’t know better. But while Jeralt couldn’t say he knew that much in this suddenly complicated, dark world, he could say that he did know his child. Byleth’s shoulders were a bit slumped, and there was a veil of exhaustion clouding their stare. There was also barely visible tension in their jaw. Jeralt sighed, mostly to signal his presence and not startle his child when he sat next to them.

“Hey, kid,” he said. Byleth nodded, but didn’t say anything. Jeralt had got used to Byleth’s quietness, but now there was something hollow in it. Byleth shifted, wrapping their large overcoat tighter around them, eyes searching something in their surroundings.

“Still awake, I see,” Jeralt said, “Are you watching over the students? I thought there were guards for that.”

There was no response. Jeralt didn’t mind.

He had minded once, when Byleth had been small and barely responded to anything. They had been a baby who had never laughed or cried, and that had been all wrong. Something had happened to Byleth, here in this very monastery. Something the Archbishop had to be behind. Jeralt had been scared, worried, and hadn’t understood. He had barely known how to be a father, let alone one who was grieving a lost wife and in an environment he couldn’t trust. Back then, and even a fairly long time after fleeing the monastery, Byleth’s silence had made his skin crawl and desperation bloom somewhere in him. His beloved Sitri had died for a child that was barely living. Nowadays, Jeralt regretted the moments he had thought that. At least even back then he had known he would love his child. Maybe that had made the silence hurt even more. It hurt him now too, but for different reasons. Because he knew that his child was uneasy, maybe even suffering, but no one knew enough to even let Jeralt know.

Sure, everyone had been worried when Byleth had fallen ill not too long ago, but once that had passed and Remire had happened, most had retreated into their own thoughts. And that was fine; Jeralt didn’t expect the world to revolve around him or his family. Still…

“How long have you gone on without sleep?” he asked quietly, because no one else would probably ask it now, “You still don’t look well.”

Byleth shrugged slowly.

“I… haven’t been able to rest properly,” they finally admitted, “Not after Remire.”

“Ah,” Jeralt said, “I could guess as much. What happened back there was horrible. Are the… students still upset too?”

Byleth nodded.

“I’m worried about them,” they said, “This shouldn’t have happened at all, and the students shouldn’t have seen them.”

“Yeah,” Jeralt said, “Definitely. At least we saved some of the villagers.”

Byleth nodded. Their tired eyes closed for a while, and they took a deep breath.

“I know, kid,” Jeralt said, “That doesn’t help all that much.”

“It’s strange…” Byleth said, an odd tone in their voice, “It’s not the worst thing we’ve ever seen. But I… somehow it feels… worse now.”

Jeralt nodded. During their days as mercenaries, they had indeed seen far worse. Once they had protected a village from truly sick bandits, who had kidnapped children. He remembered finding too small bodies and then cutting the bandits down with more ferocity than usual. He remembered Byleth, then barely seventeen, glancing at the bodies, eyes widening a little, and then turning back into the fight like nothing had happened. Afterwards, they had looked solemnly at Jeralt, hands clenched tighter around their sword than usual, and said in a hesitant voice:

“They were so small…”

Byleth hadn’t cried; they never did. But something about them had looked like they had wanted to. Jeralt had wrapped his arm around his child’s shoulders and steered his entire company back to the village. They hadn’t asked for payment that day, feeling like failures for not being fast enough.

There had been a time when they’d stumbled upon a secret slave trade ring. At least then, they hadn’t been too late to save some of the victims. But there had been no telling how many had already been sold to who knows where. And there had been many haunted stares that had told way too much about what had happened even to those who hadn’t been sold yet. No one had had much to say after they had managed to get the freed slaves to safety. Byleth had been the quietest as usual and seemed to contemplate something very intently, perhaps whatever it was that made people do something so cruel to others. Because no matter how little anything seemed to shake Byleth, or what people said about them being an emotionless killer on the battlefield, Jeralt knew that Byleth did care.

But now… perhaps they had started to care even more. Or at least the caring was easier to grasp. Ever since they had come to the monastery, ever since Byleth had started teaching, they had started to smile more. Talk more. Even though both Byleth and Jeralt were so busy they barely saw each other, Jeralt had noticed the change. Perhaps being around others like this was what had been missing from Byleth’s life all along.

“Maybe it has something to do with those smiles of yours,” Jeralt said, “Maybe being here makes it easier for you to express yourself. And that in turn can make things feel more… well, more.”

He let out a curt laugh.

“Look at me, pretending I know something about these things. Maybe all of this is my fault, you know? Our life’s been more… just surviving and less living. Maybe that’s why now…”

He sighed.

“Maybe I should take a rest as well. I’m rambling way too much right now, and I’m not even drunk.”

Byleth smiled tentatively. They had Sitri’s smile, as well as her gentle heart. It was becoming more and more evident here. The smile was contagious, and Jeralt felt his own mouth twitch a little.

“I understand it can be tough, trying to sort out new things, especially when they’re heavy like this. But don’t overwork yourself, kid. You still look pale. Try to get some rest.”

“I try, but…” Byleth shrugged helplessly.

“Is something else wrong?” Jeralt asked, “Has Rhea been treating you well?”

“She has,” Byleth said, “Maybe... too well. She is very interested in me.”

That made all sorts of warning bells go off in Jeralt’s head.

“How so?” he asked, trying his best to keep his voice steady. He _knew_ the Archbishop had had a strange interest in Byleth the moment they had set foot in the monastery. And he was almost sure Rhea knew that Jeralt had lied about Byleth’s birth happening after he had fled the monastery. Underneath her gentle smile, Rhea had a terrifyingly soul-piercing gaze that seemed to see everything, and Jeralt pretended he didn’t notice it. It was a constant dance whenever they talked, acting like they both bought each other’s lies.

He remembered a time when Byleth had found a bird with a discarded fish hook impaled through its foot. It had happened when Byleth had still been very little, and they had spent a longer time in a town that should have been a fairly good place for a child to grow. Jeralt had convinced an outwardly nice mother to let Byleth play with her children for a moment. It should have been a good way for Byleth to bond with others, and Jeralt had heard that playing was important for children. Jeralt had left for just a moment to handle some work-related thing or another. He didn’t remember what it had been, but he did remember coming back for Byleth only to find the other children crying and the mother screaming. Byleth had been standing there, hands bleeding and extended towards the children, face stoic with only slight tension in their jaw. A sign that Byleth was uncomfortable or upset, Jeralt had known by then already. Later Jeralt had found out that the blood was from the fish hook the startled bird had scratched all over Byleth’s hands in a panic while Byleth had held the flapping wings and somehow managed to extract the hook despite the bird’s struggles.

In the moment it had been somewhat understandable that the mother and her children would be upset seeing Byleth with their default expression, hands covered in blood and matter-of-factly explaining something about hurt birds. _Not_ understandably, however, the woman had had the nerve to violently shove Byleth away while screaming something about demons and horrible children.

The last time Jeralt had seen that family had been when he had turned the woman around and said in a very, _very_ serious voice:

“You will not come near my child ever again.”

There hadn’t been an _or else_ , but there hadn’t needed to be. The woman had gathered her family and gone. And so had Jeralt, putting his hand on Byleth’s shoulder and steering them back to their small house. Sometime later he had steered them out of the town altogether, looking for a new life once again.

Jeralt sometimes wished that he could go to Rhea and tell her the same he had told the other woman all those years ago. But he wasn’t stupid; he knew Rhea held nearly all the cards here. She had an entire army and the church backing her up. If she wished, she could send Jeralt on a suicide mission if she deemed him a threat, or simply ask the other Knights to arrest or kill him for treason. Now that they had been found, they were stuck here.

“She hasn’t done anything, if that is what you are worried,” Byleth said, “She just… makes me uneasy sometimes. But maybe she is just trying to get to know me. It’s… alright, I suppose.”

It wasn’t alright. Jeralt again felt cold dread in his stomach at the thought of Rhea getting anywhere near his child again. It was the same kind of dread he had felt when he had been running an errand in his mercenary days and then got a message that their current camp had been raided, some of his men injured, and Byleth had gone missing. He had been ready to break some spines in addition to blades as he had stormed after the bandits who had dared to take his child. He hadn’t got to break anything that time, however. He and his mercenaries had run into Byleth, who had apparently taken the bandit leader by surprise, slit his throat and then escaped. Byleth had had blood splatters on their face and bruises on their arms, but otherwise they had seemed fine. It had been too close a call, though, and it had taken a long time until the dread in Jeralt’s stomach had finally faded. Sometimes Jeralt thought back to that moment as the worst failure in his life. Though maybe his worst failure had been when he hadn’t stopped Sitri from dying – even though his rational side kept reminding him that there had been no way for him to help her – and Rhea getting to their child.

Or maybe his failure was raising a child basically on the run, on battlefields instead of in a steady home. He had tried it at first, settling down for a while each place they went to, but it had been difficult to actually _live_ anywhere and not worry about the next day. Jeralt had kept dreaming about the faces of Knights, could almost hear the hooves of their horses storming through whatever village they stayed in. They could locate them at any moment, or even stumble upon them by mistake. Eventually Jeralt had had to admit that the travelling life of a mercenary would be the simplest solution and raise the least questions. And if he was honest, he had missed battle. Killing wasn’t gentle, nor was it perhaps the best way to make money when it came to right and wrong, but it was what Jeralt did best, and it was needed far too often in this continent. Byleth hadn’t seemed to mind either, but then again they never seemed to mind much in general. They had been so young when Jeralt had started to form his mercenary group, but they had immediately adapted to it all. And when Jeralt had started to train them to fight, they had seemed more interested than ever before. But here… in a more secure place than ever, despite the secrets and the darkness, Byleth seemed to thrive in a way they hadn’t before. They seemed quite content with their new job as professor. It had been so nice to see, in fact, that Jeralt had started to doubt his decision to escape. Sometimes. When they weren’t sending noble brats on the battlefield or when Rhea wasn’t keeping a creepily close eye on Byleth whenever she thought no one would notice.

He supposed he just had to do his best and wait and see what would happen. It was less than he hoped, but he knew his family had gone through worse with almost nothing. And his child was strong, no matter what. They could get through almost anything. That didn’t stop him from putting his arm around Byleth’s shoulders again and saying:

“Kid, if you’ve got any worries, you can come tell me. You know that, right?”

Byleth nodded tiredly. Their eyes were fluttering shut.

“I know,” they muttered, “Thank you.”

Jeralt smiled again. Byleth’s head rested heavily on his shoulder, Byleth blinking rapidly to stay awake. Jeralt found himself running his fingers through blue hair, like he had used to when Byleth had been little and unable to sleep. It was sometimes odd to think that the child Jeralt had carried on his shoulders, and even the gangly teenager who listened unwaveringly to Jeralt’s sword and tactics lessons, had slowly turned into the responsible adult now watching over a flock of kids. Jeralt wasn’t sure if he had done any of this parenting thing right, but he wanted to think so. If he’d been terrible at it, Byleth wouldn’t have turned out so well. Right?

And if he hadn’t, Byleth wouldn’t have trusted him enough to fall asleep there, let their breathing even out and eyes close even as the cold, charged night air made their surroundings feel less safe than they logically were.

“Father?” Byleth’s voice was almost gone now, and Jeralt was surprised the kid was even a little bit awake at this point.

“What?” he asked.

“I… have always been content. With the company. With you. I...” here Byleth paused, trying to find the words and apparently not quite succeeding, “It makes me feel warm.”

Jeralt’s smile turned softer nonetheless, softer than he had thought he could manage.

“Thanks,” he said, “I love you too, kid.”

Byleth probably didn’t hear it. They were already asleep. Finally. Jeralt stayed still for a while, waited for Byleth to fall deeper into sleep, and then got up, manoeuvring his child onto his back like he had many times when Byleth had been much smaller. He supposed that – even though he sometimes felt absolutely done with almost all the nonsense this world threw at him – he would never be too old to carry his child.


End file.
